


Anthrocene

by serpentinne



Category: The Strain (TV), The Strain Trilogy - Guillermo del Toro & Chuck Hogan
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentinne/pseuds/serpentinne
Summary: Before unleashing the Master's strain on NYC, and while still plotting to take over the world, Thomas Eichhorst acquires an assistant of his own.





	1. Dangerous For Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Eichhorst catches a would-be thief. His response?

**France, 2013**

     Thomas Eichhorst rounded the side of the bar that had been his hunting grounds for the evening and approached the parking lot with an empty stomach.  A movement at the edge of the parking lot caught his attention – a figure bent over, trying to wriggle open the window of an Audi.  _His_ Audi.  Perhaps he wouldn't go home hungry after all.  
  
     He approached the woman from behind, his footfall preternaturally silent as always.  
  
     “Would you like me to call a locksmith?” he inquired.  The young woman jumped in surprise.  She dropped the wedge tool, grabbed her chest, and whipped around to face him.  
  
     “Oh!” she exclaimed and flipped her sandy hair over her shoulder.  “You startled me," she laughed and nodded, "It's fine, thank you, I seem to have gotten it.”  
  
     Eichhorst grinned widely and leaned in a bit.  “This is my car,” he whispered through a smile.  A look of increasing dread crossed the would-be thief's face.  
  
     He made to grab the woman's arm, but she lashed out with a knife she'd evidently been palming up her sleeve.  Unfortunately, the strigoi made quick work of confiscating the weapon, the woman soon in his grasp.  
  
     “I'm sorry,” the frightened woman apologized.  “Please, just let me go. I won't ever come here again.”  
  
     Eichhorst tilted his head, considering the opportunity literally in his grasp.  He could have a quick bite, as he'd become accustomed to now that he was living in a small apartment.   _Or_ , he felt a frisson of excitement, he could establish a steady supply and some extra fun.  He wrapped the woman's wrists behind her back and lead her to the passenger side, forcing her into the car.  
  
     They set out driving toward his apartment at the edge of town.  He'd been staying in a small town outside of Metz for the past 6 months.  The basement of a ruined church in a nearby natural park made for a good hiding spot for the Master.  It was a bit Dracula, he knew, but it was practical.  
  
     “Where are you taking me?” she asked.  
  
     “The police,” he lied.  He didn't even know where the police station was in this town.  
   
     The woman drew in a deep breath and, hesitantly, reached her left hand across the center console and toward Thomas's lap.  “Maybe I can...Persuade you otherwise?” The reward for her offer was the strigoi grabbing her hand, squeezing a bit too hard for handling a human.  She cried out when she heard a crunch and he threw his arm back toward her without taking his eyes off the road.  
  
     It was then that he smelled it – she'd crossed her hair from one shoulder to the other again, sending a waft of scent from her neck.  A slightly sticky, chemical smell entered his nostrils, a smell that he knew meant the woman's blood was addled with an illicit substance.  He was disappointed and slightly annoyed; how had he missed this in the parking lot?  He must have been caught up in the chase.   
  
    _Perhaps he could have a little fun by consuming her contaminated blood_ – the Master immediately suppressed the thought.  
  
     “What perfume is that I smell?  Eau d'Héroïne?” he asked with fake geniality.  He knew he was right when she hugged her arms around herself and sank back into the seat.    
  
     “Are we almost to the station?” she asked nervously as they pulled down a small road toward a row of houses.   The car came to a stop and he put it in park.    
  
     “No,” he answered, and relished the look of surprise on her face before he was across the console with a hand around her neck.  He held down just long enough for her to faint, but not long enough to cause damage.  He sat back in his seat and sighed.  There weren't any neighbors, thankfully, except for the deaf elderly landlord that lived alone on the ground floor of his building.  Hopefully, the man would be asleep and he could carry a woman up the back stair without causing any alarm.

 

  
     Improvising, Eichhorst locked the woman in the spare bedroom, the window of which faced a building too close to allow her to slip out and escape.  He then took her purse and emptied it out onto the coffee table.  
  
     “Valérie Rochette,” he whispered to himself, rubbing her identification card between his fingers.  The purse also contained a lighter, enough cash to buy a sandwich, a tube of red lipstick, and a smaller, zippered bag at the bottom that held a needle, some cotton, a rubber tie-off, and a small spoon.  
  
     He breathed another false sigh and leaned back into the couch, still rubbing the ID card.  Delayed gratification was not something he'd ever excelled at, but the predicament he'd gotten himself into now demanded he wait for a meal.  If he left now, she may wake before he returned, but he couldn't drink from her until her system had rid itself of its toxins.  However, once she was clean, he could have a steady supply for quite some time, if he took care of her properly.  That, too, was not one of his talents.

     A rustling from the other end of the apartment soon drew him from his ruminations – she was awake.  And screaming.

 

 

_Get up, V._

_Nadine?_ Val felt as if she were floating just beneath the surface of water, struggling to reach the air.

_Get up.  You've got to move,_ the whisper repeated in the voice of her dead friend.    

     A glimmer of stars seemed to appear above her, her unfocused eyes making the light shining from under the door scatter into a million points.  And, then, a rush.

     Val sat bolt upright on the small cot, gasping for air, the feeling of a phantom hand around her throat.  She realized she was hollering loudly and tried unsucessfully to quiet down.

     Steps sounded down the hallway, slow and deliberate.  Val put her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to keep quiet.  But, of course, it was no use; he knew she was awake.

     The door creaked open slowly to reveal the man backlit by the dim lamp of the hallway, his features hidden in shadow.  He was smaller than she'd thought earlier, when he was too close and seemed to tower over her. He flicked on the overhead light, and she felt slightly disoriented as her eyes adjusted.  She was now allowed a better look at his face than she'd had before. He also looked a bit older than she'd originally assumed, given the darkness of the parking lot and his spry movement.

     “Valérie,” he greeted her with a crisp, yet soft voice.  

     “What...why are you doing this?” her voice shook as the well-dressed man came to sit beside her on the cot.  She glanced up at the door that stood slightly ajar.

     “I wouldn't,” her captor responded, following her eyes.  He gave her a pitying smile.

     “Listen,” she pleaded, her breath now coming faster and faster, “I'm sorry for trying to steal from you.  I wasn't going to take the car, I swear.  I've never done anything like this before.  I was desperate.  Please, let me go.”

     The man acted as if he hadn't heard her request, instead turning his body to face her.  He still had that stupid grin on his face, like he was having the best time in the world.  “Come, now, let's have a look at you,” he placed a warm hand on her shoulder and guided her to look at him head on.  “Lovely -”

     She tried to cut him off, “I don't -”

     “My name is Thomas Eichhorst,” he held out his hand and she shook it absently.  “And you're Valérie Rochette, correct?”

     She nodded weakly, looking down at her lap.

     “It is pronounced Ro-shet, yes?

     She nodded again and put her hand over her stomach.  “Please sir, I think -”

     He ignored her again, carrying on, “Good! I was -”

     Val leaned over and vomited forcefully onto the floor beside the bed.  

     Eichhorst jumped to his feet, surprised.  When she was done, Val saw him flick a bit of sick off his shoe and then looked up at him.

     “I'm sorry.  I'm sick.  I need some.”

     “Need some what, Valérie?”

     She started to sob, embarrassed.  “Some dope.  I'm so sick.  Please let me go.”

     Eichhorst cocked his head to the side, not looking away from her and still not losing his smile.  “You'll be fine in a few days.  A whole new person.  Is anyone waiting for you? And don't lie, or I'll know.”

     She hugged her knees to her chest.  “Maybe Luc. I've been sleeping on his couch.”

     “Is Luc your boyfriend?”

     She shook her head no.

     “No boyfriend?” he asked.

     Val looked back up at him, looking hesitant.  “If...if that's what you want, then we can do that.  There's no need to lock me in here.”

     He gave her a look that was halfway between pity and amusement.  “We've established that that's not what I'm after.”

     Val put her face in her hands. “Then what do you _want_?” she asked, frustrated.

     “A different sort of exchange.  For now, I'll bring you some water, maybe some food.  Please,” he gestured toward the cot, “rest.”  He acted as a humble host, standing in a room with a bare light bulb and one piece of furniture while wearing a thousand dollar suit.

     She didn't answer him, just stared as the door closed behind him. She _was_ thirsty, and she desperately wanted to rinse the taste from her mouth. It seemed impossible to be embarrassed while apparently being held captive, but she was.

     The man returned shortly with a pitcher of water, some paper towels, and a trash bag.  He set the lot on the floor near the bed, nodded once to the young woman, and left.  
  


      
     Val heard the sound of a lock turning from the other side of the door.  She knew she was going to die.

 

    


	2. An Anthropoid Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry folks, we'll be heading to New York very shortly.

     Through the haze of detox, she’d managed to keep track of the days.  Every time the sun went down and her “host” came to check on her, she’d peel a piece of cardboard off the box of crackers he’d left her and put it aside in a pile.  There were now 7 pieces.

     She’d realized that she’d actually begun to look forward to Thomas coming to check on her.  Staring at the walls in the bare room made it harder to ignore the agony her body and mind were in.  At some point, her focus had shifted from trying to find a way to escape to finding a way to keep sane.  He’d allowed her out of the room on several occasions at this point, which she was begrudgingly grateful for.   
  
The first time she’d left the room, she’d determined that he must live in the apartment.  On this 7th day, he let her out again. Or was it evening? It was hard to tell; the light-blocking curtains were always tightly closed.  Either the man preferred to stay awake all night like some sort of vampire or he barely slept at all. Or, she thought, maybe he just had a skin condition.

     He’d brought her a change of clothes, ordered her to have a shower, and sat her on one end of the couch while he compared papers from a manilla folder to an atlas of the United States.  He’d circle a city in red marker and then continue consulting the papers. After a while, she watched him sort though numerous passports and ID cards he’d pulled from a very old-looking valise.  None of the faces on the passports were his; some were even women.

     He didn’t seem very worried about her attempting to escape which, honestly, made the need to find a way out the door feel less urgent.  Simply having a new environment and something to watch other than an unadorned wall was an improvement, as far as entertainment was concerned, but she felt compelled to speak.  She’d always had a hard time keeping quiet for too long.

     “Where did you get all those passports?” she croaked, pulling the throw blanket tighter around her shoulders.

     The strange man paused his movements for a moment, and turned his head to look at her.  “None of your business,” he replied, and went back to marking the map.

     “What part of Germany are you from?”   He didn’t reply, and continued his efforts.

     After a moment, Val shifted in her seat again and asked, “Are you going to let me go?”

     Thomas dropped the passport he was currently holding and ran his hand through his hair, turning to look at his captive on the other end of the couch.  She looked only mildly worried, which irritated him slightly.   


     “Ms. Rochette, I’ve let you accompany me outside of your room as a nicety.  Please, do not test me.”    
  
She was clearly annoying him with her inquiries, but her curiosity continued to grow along with her lucidity.  He hadn’t harmed her. Yet. Actually, he hadn’t done anything to her, other than being a bit of a prick. Maybe he was lonely.  Or maybe the worst was yet to come. 

     “I just want to know what’s going on,” she plead, hoping an innocent look might illicit some sympathy.  It was the only weapon she had at the moment. “I’ve spent the past week wondering if the next moment would be the one you came in and ended my life.  If that’s your intention, then it would have happened by now, I’m sure. And you’re not after sex - you made that  _ quite _ clear.”   
  
“Insulting me isn’t the best move at your disposal.”   
  
“Was it an insult?  It wasn’t intended as one.” She crossed her arms. “That says more about you than it does me.”   
  
“You infantile -” he stopped short, rose from the couch, and brushed imaginary dirt from the front of his jacket.  He then went into the other room, returning shortly with another file in his hand.

     Val rose from the couch as she saw him return.  “I just don’t understand what you want,” she pressed.  “You're clearly not just seeking company.” She breathed heavily, tired.  He paid her no mind and sat back in his previous spot. 

     “When my friend Nadine died...she was gone a week before -” her voice broke “- before they found her.  I've been here exactly a week now. Is that what's going to happen to me?”

     Thomas briefly considered the coincidence that there was a murder in a such a small town that he  _ hadn't  _ caused.  He regarded Val for a moment and then tapped the new folder he'd just retrieved.  

     “You'll find out soon enough.  Now, sort these alphabetically.  I'm assuming you know what that means?”

     Val fumed internally at having her intelligence insulted.  She got it - she was a junkie, so she must be an idiot, right?  She grabbed the folder off the table and, instead of returning to her end of the couch, settled into the chair right beside him.  She just wanted to be close to someone, even if that person was an ornery kidnapper who was so uptight that he apparently counted suits as loungewear. 

     With very little energy remaining in her stores, she carefully alphabetized the documents in the folder, which turned out to be some sort of financial documents.  After a few minutes, she spoke quietly, her tone sour, “I can understand your worry that I wouldn't know the alphabet. It's not something I covered in depth while writing my thesis.  Too advanced, I suppose.” She continued placing the pages into their respective piles.  _ E, A, K, Q…. _

     She noticed her counterpart had stopped moving and looked up to find him staring at her.

     “ _ Dr. _ Rochette?” He looked skeptical.

     “Yes, I suppose,” she answered, enjoying having the upper hand in the conversation, however briefly.  “I never really used the title, but  _ Dr. _ Rochette is correct.”  It felt good to know something he didn't. 

     The strange, too wide smile returned to his face, having been absent during his concentration on the maps.  “Let me guess - a medical doctor. Did you get hooked on your own supply?”

     “ _ No _,” she rolled her eyes and went back to sorting, not sure what to make of his interest and sure he'd find a way to turn the conversation back around in his favor.  “Hematology. It's the study of blood.  My research team worked to find a better, sustainable alternative to the synthetic blood that’s currently available.”

     She glanced back up to find him simply staring at her again.  Talking about her previous work tended to make people uncomfortable, so she did as she usually did and scrambled to explain.  “I know it's odd, but I love blood. It's just...it’s tissue  _ and  _ it's liquid.  I'm sorry,” she let out a short, nervous laugh, “it's gross,  I know.”

     His expression was hard for Val to read.  He seemed to be looking past her, listening to something she couldn't hear. Maybe he was, she considered - who knew just how crazy this guy was?  After a moment he looked at her with a smile that looked so normal it made her uncomfortable. Not menacing, but apparently genuine. 

     “You still haven't eaten,” he changed the subject.

     “I ate those crackers yesterday,” she defended.

     “There are cans of soup,” he informed her, popping up and heading into the small attached kitchen, “and pineapple.” 

     “Pineapple?” She wondered out loud as he pulled both a can of soup and the entire fruit from an otherwise bare cupboard. 

     “Vitamin C is important,” he asserted as he began slicing into the fruit.


	3. Let Not Time Deceive You

     “Tell me more about your research,” Thomas prompted, leaning against the kitchen counter.  A relaxed posture made him look unnatural.

     Val continued to stir the soup on the small stove.  The smell made her slightly nauseated. “You’re sure you want to hear about this?”

     Thomas just nodded and she indulged him.  “We wanted to find a way to personalize blood.  To be used during surgeries or in leukemia treatments.”

     “Any success?”

     “Yes,” she affirmed and took her first sip of the soup.  “We'd take donated stem cells and essentially grow the blood, using certain conditions.  Of course, only the wealthy can really afford it and it's not useful for emergencies.”  She paused.  “Do you want any of this?  I can't eat it all.”

     “No, thank you.  So how does one go from advanced medical research to living on the streets?” he inquired, clearly reading her face for her reaction.

     Val couldn’t help but give him a sour look in exchange for his question.  When was the last time he’d spoken to another person? Maybe it was just German bluntness.  

     She shrugged.  “The work was my passion.  I loved it. But I’d just kind of...fallen into it.  I didn’t really have any aim; I never have,” she admitted, “and the routine irked me, for some reason.  Like an itch. Get up, go to work, come home, repeat.” 

     She sighed and fiddled with the cup in her hands.  “I started to use to make things more interesting, then things got out of hand.  I’d ask about  _ you _ , but I’m worried what I’ll hear.”  Val turned her head meaningfully toward the pile of passports and maps in the adjacent room.

     Eichhorst tilted his head.  “I’m a travel agent.”

“Do they have travel agents in 2013?” Val raised a questioning eyebrow.

“No,” he replied, smiling too wide again, “probably not.  Where is your family?  Your friends?”

“Is this where you make sure no one will come looking for me if you kill me?” she challenged.

     He just looked at her. 

     She sighed, wondering if she'd die sober and full of cheap soup.  “My mother died when I was young, and my dad went kind of crazy. I haven't seen him much since I went to university.”

     Eichhorst nodded, thinking of a war that had been over for nearly a century.  “Both of my parents died when I was young. Of course, I'm sure you had friends to fill the void.” 

     “Not really,” she replied.  “I mean, I have a friend who lets me stay on his couch but that's only since -” she stopped for a beat - “my roommate passed.  I couldn't go back to our apartment, so I just started couch-surfing.”

     Neither said anything for a minute.  “God, I sound pathetic,” she added.

     “This is the girl you mentioned earlier?”

     “Yeah.”

     He looked very hard at her.  “I need you to do something for me.  An errand.”

     Val couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  “Errand?” He was going to let her leave?

     He pushed away from the counter and retrieved something from a box atop the fridge.  He held out to her a small key. “This opens a P.O. box at the postal bureau on Route de Lorry.  There should be a small package addressed to an E. M. Millard.”

     Val set her soup aside and accepted the key.  “When do you want me to do this?”

     “Now, if you will.”

     He watched her rush out the door, soup left half finished.  He would give her the one last night of freedom before he came for her.  Tracking her down by her scent wouldn't be any issue.

 

 

     Val’s mind raced as she ran down the road, bare feet ripping against the cold pavement.  She’d flown past a confused-looking elderly man in the driveway.  _ Free… _

_      Free to what? _

     She came to a sudden halt.  Where was she headed? She turned and gave one last look at the house she’d come from and thought about going to the police.  Then she thought about her last experience there, begging them to believe that the person she held dearest was missing without a trace.  They’d done nothing. No, she wouldn't be going back there.

     She instead set out toward Luc's, the closest thing to home she had.

     When she got to the apartment she heard joyous ruckus coming from inside.  He probably had some of his other friends over. He opened the door and ushered her inside.  She stepped into a room of young men, who all fell silent as they looked at the bloody-footed, shaking woman who’d just entered.  She waved hello and went through to the kitchen, Luc on her heels.

     “Where the hell have you been?  What happened?” he asked, gesturing to her ragged appearance.

     “I -” she started.

     “ - You can’t just barge in looking like a maniac after days of radio silence.  It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” she asked, disbelieving.  “Were you even worried?”

     “Listen, I’ve got guests.  If you wanna stay, fine, but we’ll talk later.”

     “No!” she grabbed his shoulder as he went to leave the room.  One of Luc’s friends entered the kitchen and started digging around in the refrigerator.  “You didn’t even look for me?”

     Luc’s friend stood, closed the fridge, and cracked open a beer.  “Isn’t this the chick you said wouldn’t put out?”

     “ _ What? _ ” Val raged.  “Is that what you’ve been telling people?!”

     He shrugged at her, at a loss for what to say or do.  “I mean, you’ve been staying here for awhile. I kind of thought you’d have found a place by now -”

     “You know I couldn’t go back to my place, after what happened to Nadine.  You said -”

     Luc cut her off.  “Look, I don’t give a  _ fuck _ about Nadine.  I barely knew her, and I barely know you.  I want your junkie ass off my couch and out.”

     Val didn’t even waste her breath telling him to fuck off.  She just gathered what few things she’d had around the apartment and stuffed them into her backpack along with a pair of Luc’s shoes.  They were far too large, but they’d have to do.  The living room full of young men was silent as she left into the still-dark early morning, wearing no shoes or jacket.

 

 

     As soon as she was out of sight of Luc’s building, she sat and pulled on layers of socks until his shoes fit her feet.  It was only a few hours until daylight, but it was frigid. She shoved her hands into her pants pockets, feeling the smooth metal of the key.

A few hours later she found herself walking back down the road toward the house she’d run from at full speed about 6 hours previous.  The house she’d been held in for an entire week. Not that a week was a long time - time has little meaning when one has nothing to occupy it.

The sun was just creeping above the horizon.  If Thomas was a night-owl like she’d surmised, then he’d likely be headed to sleep soon.  Hopefully she’d catch him in time. She’d had a bit of luck; the postal bureau didn’t open until 8, but the worker who’d arrived at 6 had taken pity on her shivering form and allowed her inside.

 

 

     A knock on the door caught Eichhorst by surprise.  And then irritation. He hadn’t thought the girl would go to the police, and hoped his landlord hadn’t witnessed her leaving.  Whoever was at the door, he wasn’t in the mood to be inconvenienced by having to kill them.

     If the knock at the door had surprised Eichhorst, the sight through the peephole almost shocked him.  Val stood there wearing the clothes he’d given her, and holding a small package in her hand, a backpack on her shoulders.  He reached up and rubbed his bare cheek, deciding what to do. He’d removed all of his makeup and prosthetics and stood there, clearly not human.  The woman on the other side would have no idea that the door separated her from a strigoi in pajamas.

     He unlocked the door, and stood behind it as he let it swing open.  When she walked through, he slammed the door shut behind her, pinned her back against it, and held a hand over her mouth.

     “Sure you still want to be here?” he whispered into her ear.  He always enjoyed watching the reaction of those who saw him in all of his strigoi glory for the first time.  The realization that monsters truly did exist did uncomparable things to the human mind. He remembered that feeling.

     “If I let go, will you scream?” he asked.

     She shook her head no and he released her, her hand on the door knob.  She breathed heavily. “Where’s Thomas?” she demanded. “Who the fuck are you?”

     He rolled his eyes.  “I thought you were supposed to be clever,” he replied smugly.   He then stepped back, crossed his feet, and did a sort of curtsy.  “You don’t recognize my voice?”

     Val’s eyes grew in realization.  “What  _ happened _ to you?”  She shrugged her backpack onto the floor and stepped forward slowly.  She raised a hand to touch his face, to see if the grey skin felt human, but she thought better of it and dropped it to her side.

     “You have the package?” he asked, reaching out to take it from her other hand.

     “Oh!  Yes. And, um, I have your key,” she pulled it from her pocket and held it out.

“Keep it.  I have an offer for you,” he replied with a smile.  Not the too-wide smile, but with the real one. On this face, the real smile was comforting.

     “An offer?” She still held the key out, baffled.

     “A job.”

 

  



	4. Tender Prey

**Berlin, 3 months later**

     Val put her hand on top of the hand on her knee and leaned seductively over the man beside her.  She grabbed a napkin from the bar.

“ _ Do you have a pen? _ ” she asked in broken German.

     The bland-looking young man, who Val had met about an hour before while drinking alone, shook his head no.

     “ _ Oh _ ,” she feigned disappointment.  “ _ I wanted your number _ .”

     He looked at her oddly and she assumed she had gotten some words wrong.  She giggled in the way she knew was considered cute and mimed dialing numbers into a phone.  Recognition showed on the man’s face and he pulled out mobile, handing it over to her.

     “ _ No, no _ ,” she shook her head and didn’t accept the phone.  Instead, she hopped down from the bar stool and beckoned for him to follow her.  Still holding his hand, she pulled him from the bar and out the back door.

     Val pointed toward a car and mimicked writing with a pen.  The man had other ideas, grabbing her arms and spinning her around until they were chest-to-chest.  He grabbed her ass and she smiled playfully. Her bottom lip between her teeth, she grabbed his hand once again and started to instead guide him behind an abandoned, dilapidated building next door.

     Once out of sight of the parking lot, he quickly pinned her against the building and put his tongue further down her throat than she thought was strictly necessary.  That was, until he let out a startled gasp and released his grip to instead reach toward the alien appendage now attached to his jugular.  Thomas was truly undetectable when he wanted to be.  Val watched as the young man fell to the ground, grey and bloodless.

Thomas retracted his stinger and stood upright.  He then stopped mid-turn, surprised, and scented the air like he did when picking up a new or intriguing smell.  He looked at Val and raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “Really?”

“What?!”she flushed and straightened her sheath dress.  “You took awhile. It’s bound to happen,” she defended.

“It’s good to see you’re enjoying yourself,” Eichhorst replied as he pulled out his pocket square and shook it out.

“Well, it took you long enough.  You don’t usually let your food play with me that long.”  

He dabbed a few droplets from his chin before re-folding and replacing the pocket square.  “You didn’t appear to be in too much danger,” he replied as Val reached up toward his face.  She wiped a stray red fleck from his cheekbone and brought the droplet to her mouth, licking it from her thumb.

For a brief moment, she witnessed The Look he sometimes got on his face.  The sort of excitement she’d just witnessed in the eyes of the recently deceased bar patron, followed quickly by a flattened, empty look.  It was as if any thoughts of such banal, human things were immediately sucked from his mind. Val had a theory as to why that was.

“Come,” the slight man turned and lead the way back to the parking lot, “We have an appointment.”

     “With Mr. Palmer, correct?  We’re finalizing travel plans,” she affirmed.

     “Eldritch unfortunately cannot be with us in person, so we will be communicating via video chat at secure location.  He also wants to discuss the finer details of the equipment you will need in the laboratory.”

     “Oh.  I’m guessing I’m acting as the IT department for you old men?” she quipped as they unlocked the car.

     He regarded her over the top of the vehicle as he opened the driver’s side door.  “Dr. Rochette, your attitude grows tiresome.”

     “Sorry,” she smiled and scrambled into the passenger seat, “I’m just excited.  What’re we going to listen to? Please don’t say Wagner.”

 

The first time she’d watched the strigoi eat, she’d been horrified.  Mostly.  From the subsequent feedings she’d witnessed, and participated in, she knew that the first time was unusually messy - perhaps purposefully so.  Seeing the stinger, its speed, and the color drain from the victim’s face had made her freeze in panic.  But, when Thomas had looked up from the kill and grinned at her, the lower half of his face covered in blood, she’d found that her panting wasn’t a sign of distress.

She hadn’t lied when she’d said she loved blood.

 

**Munich, 2 months later**

     Val flopped down onto the hotel bed, exhausted.  She kicked off her heels and let them fall unceremoniously to the floor, earning a strained look from the strigoi untying his shoes like a civilized person.  He’d been increasingly snippy the past day or so, Val had noted as they were rushing through the U-Bahn tunnels in hopes to make it back to the hotel before daybreak.  

     She knew why.  He hadn’t eaten before they’d left their base near Berlin and they’d been in Munich for 2 days.  Unless he’d managed to grab a snack while she wasn’t looking, she likely had a very hungry, very lethal creature across the room from her.  

     Val watched him remove his jacket, then his tie, and begin to unbutton his shirt.  

     “If you don’t mind, I’ll be resting soon.”  He paused his actions and looked pointedly at the pair of pajama pants he’d pulled from the dresser drawer.  The bottom of his fake neck peeked through the vee of the parted shirt. 

     “Where am I to go?” she asked.  “There’s only one bed.” 

     “When I booked the room, I’d assumed we’d be observing Herr Reinhardt in shifts, but that proved to not be the case.” 

     There was a question she'd wanted to ask for some time, partly out of curiosity and partly out of self preservation.  Instead of retreating to let him get ready for bed, she crossed the room and reached for his shoulder. That strange crackling noise arose from his throat as it had every time she’d come within reach of him that night. 

     “Are you able to drink...without killing?  To have just a sip, so to speak?” Her fingertips ghosted across his shoulder, playing with his shirt.

     If Thomas had a God other than the Master, he’d probably be praising them right now.  This woman who’d started off as an intended blood slave had proved herself a valuable assistant and he’d avoided forcing her to provide for him in such a manner.  Not that he was above doing so in an emergency, but he’d hardly call this an emergency.  _ Of course _ , he thought,  _ she didn’t need to know that _ .  He was ecstatic.

     “Better yet, I can do so without turning you,” he replied with a grin.  “I do have a certain request for such a situation, however.” 

     She nodded seriously and waited for him to continue.  

     “Blood is best taken from the femoral artery.  Am I correct to assume you know where that is?”

     Val gave him a look that said “ _ Is that a real question? _ ” and nodded.

     He grinned at her and held up a finger.  “One moment.”

     He returned from the bathroom with a white towel, which he spread out on the the white comforter atop the bed.  She positioned herself, a bit awkwardly, on top of said towel, wondering if blood on a towel would raise less concerns with housekeeping than blood on a blanket.  Why did everything have to be white?

     “You could’ve at least bought me dinner first,” she quipped as she tried to get comfortable, nervously propping herself up on her elbows and watching Thomas remove his neck piece and pull a plain white t-shirt over his head.  

     He knelt on the edge of the bed and gave her a puzzled look. “I did,” he replied, not getting the joke. Val was used to that by now, and let it go.

  
He was surprisingly gentlemanly about the act, an absurdity that made her have to restrain her laughter.  She laid on her back and parted her legs slowly, and could tell the moment Eichhorst caught a glimpse of her panties, because he suddenly closed his eyes.  Without much warning, the stinger snaked from his mouth and up her thigh from her knee, taking its time to feel out just the right spot. It reached back a bit and struck forward again, breaking skin.

The pain level was surprisingly low, not unlike the pinch of a needle.  To Val, the feeling was both familiar and insignificant - it was the draining feeling that was uncomfortable.  So much blood was gone so quickly.  Her heart palpitated from the shock and she gasped for air.  It was then that he disengaged.

     Thomas had opened his eyes just before retracting his stinger, watching Valérie with her eyes clenched shut.  The blood tasted different.  Not in a bad way.  It had a sort of extra  _ fizzle _ that he couldn’t place.  He’d felt her heart speed faster, likely out of fear.  Then, he’d smelled it.  He really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was, due to their position, but he hadn’t expected to smell arousal from the young woman beneath him.  Hell, even when he was living, that particular experience had been infrequent. 

     He sliced open his thumb with the nail of his forefinger, a droplet of white beading at the wound.  Leaning forward between the legs of her still-prone, slightly-grey body, he brought the White to her lips.  Val didn’t know what odd sort of ritual this was, but she didn’t have the strength to puzzle it out.  She took his thumb into her mouth and sucked on it, moaning as she felt a rush, every vein singing as her cells worked at warp-speed. 

     She felt his thumb be pulled from between her lips with a  _ pop! _ and she opened her eyes, flushing upon realization that, in her haze, she’d probably held on longer than was decent.  But what was decent in this situation?

Thomas was still hovering above her, looking as if they’d never seen one another before.  For a moment she thought he might kiss her, but he finished studying her face and leaned back onto his haunches.  “Thank you,” he said simply.

     “No problem,” Val answered as she sat up and stretched out her arms.  “Actually, I feel great.  Better than before.  What did you do?”

     “I fed you some of my blood,” he answered with a smirk.

     “Oh, god.  Really?”

     “Are you disgusted or aroused?  It’s hard to tell, with you.” 

     She gave a small, curt cough.  “Excuse me,” she stood from the bed.  “I think I’ll be getting ready for bed now.  Do you mind?”

     She turned her back to him, gesturing toward the zipper on the back of her dress.  The sheath dress had done nothing but get in the way during the evening’s escapades.  She needed to get some clothes for herself, she remembered. Thomas had provided her with clothes he’d referred to as “suitable,” but were what she would call “impractical.” 

     He dragged his fingertips down the skin revealed by the zipper as he drew it down.  Val let out a small breath and turned to back toward the amused look on his face. He looked like he might laugh, which automatically meant he was having fun at someone’s expense - right now, it was hers.  

     She flushed again and scurried to the bathroom to change.  When she emerged from the bathroom she witnessed a now-noseless and bald Eichhorst sitting next to a mirror and removing his thick makeup with a cotton ball.  Val crawled beneath the covers and watched the strigoi appear bit by bit, removing his teeth and dropping them in a glass of water with a fizz. 

     She closed her eyes and turned away as he rose from the vanity and approached the bed, hoping to avoid the awkwardness.  They said good night and Val thought about the first time she’d seen him free of all disguises.  She’d been terrified, but not disgusted.  

     After he’d grinned widely at her with those strange, pointed front teeth, when she’d accepted his offer of a job, they’d sat on the couch again, him musing about the Master and her wanting to sleep but absolutely not wanting to go back into the room he’d kept her in.  It hadn’t mattered much anyway; they’d only stayed in that town for another week. No one had come to look for her.

     He’d explained that he worked for a unique being that was tasked with making the world a better place than it was.  “I was like you, once. Lost, drifting. No true purpose. Then the Master found me, lifted me from the dull fog of humanity.  You see, Val, it's humanity that's failed you. But the Master can never fail, because he's so much more than human.” 

     Val’s thoughts turned from the memory to, not surprisingly, Thomas hovering above her after feeding from her.  She wondered what it would’ve been like if he’d leaned down and kissed her.  _  Did she want that?  She must, if she was thinking about it.  He had an odd smell, not wholly unpleasant, but strange.  Would he taste the same? What would happen if she tried make a move?   _ She rolled back onto her other side to face the apparently-sleeping strigoi, trying to stop her thoughts from racing. 

     He’d probably freak out, she decided.  Even if he was into it, she had a feeling that his special “connection” to the Master affected him more than he’d told her.  Maybe he didn’t realize.  Any time she saw joy cross his features, it was quickly and unnaturally drained away.  It was unsettling to witness.

     She looked harder at him in the mostly-dark of the hotel room.   _ Could she kiss someone without a nose?  Was he a someone or a something? He was very warm, so warm that during these winter months she’d tried to sit close to him to soak up the ambient heat.  That would be pleasant. It was pleasant right then, nested together. _

     She’d noticed that he always spent as much time in his human guise as possible.  It confused her - she doubted it was for her benefit, as he probably couldn’t care less if his appearance made her uncomfortable.

_     The only thing that worried her was cutting her tongue on the teeth if he didn’t have his -  _

     “Are you finished staring?” the accented voice cut off her racing thoughts and she realized she’d been gawking the entire time.  How he could know, Val wasn’t sure, as he hadn’t opened his eyes.

     “ _ Sleep _ ,” he commanded.

     She obeyed the best she could.


	5. The Horizon Bleeds

_“I am need directions at the hotel.”_  
  
    _“ **To** the hotel,”_ Eichhorst corrected in English, “and you don't need ‘am.’  Needing isn't a state, it's an action.”  
  
     “In this case,” Val grinned and winked at him suggestively.  He rolled his eyes.  
  
     “I'm going for a run,” she continued. “I'd ask you to join me, but…” she looked meaningfully at the clock showing 09:00.  She made to stand from the table but her partner placed one finger on her shoulder to lower her back into her seat.  
  
     “We're not yet finished.”  His patience, seemingly always in short supply as of late, was running out.  He leaned forward across the table, an urgency in his voice.  “You leave for New York in two weeks and your English is abysmal.  The Master is relying on you to make appointments and connections, to build rapport before he and I arrive.  You cannot do that unless you communicate. If nothing else, we can at least control this part of the plan.”  
  
     He had reason to worry.  After years of planning, several things had fallen through just weeks before the plan was to be put into motion.  For one, the Master had to be moved yet again, which meant he and Valérie had to find either a new apartment, hotel, or squat. Two nights ago, Thomas had pulled up to the abandoned warehouse that hosted his leader, only to find construction equipment parked outside and demolition notices tacked to the sides of the building. In a panic, he had spent that night and the next day brainstorming places to hide the Master and all the past night scouting for a new location.

     Val watched him flick his hair back, the style having come loose from the gel yesterday, at about the same time his makeup had started to wear off. He looked a bit manic; he wasn’t a huge fan of disorder. She reached across the table and played with his cufflink.

     “Even you need rest. You’ve been up for days and you’ll need your strength for the relocation tonight. Let me take care of what’s left to be done today.”

     “Shirking your responsibilities now does not give me confidence in your performance once you leave my company,” he contested, even though he relaxed noticeably.

     “I’m not shirking my duties,” she assured him. “I’ve been studying, I swear. It might’ve been easier to learn from a native French or English speaker, but you’ve done a great job helping me brush up on English.”

     He stood from the table, exhaustion showing on his face now that he allowed it. “Both my French and English are perfectly adequate, thank you.”

     Val sighed, wishing he’d just take a nap already.

     “All that is left is packing,” he looked around the mostly bare apartment.  “I’m sure you can handle that.” She nodded and watched him retreat toward the bedroom before suddenly stopping and turning back around. “And the truck.  The rental truck must be picked up before 16:00.  Can you handle that?”

     Val mentally weighed the chances of her driving a box truck and not injuring anyone.  Oh well.  “I _think_ so. It can’t be that different from a car, can it?”

 

  
     She set out for the truck rental agency at 15:00, having finished packing. She’d hoped to find time to jog that day, not only to keep up with the somewhat intense workout regimen that Eichhorst had pushed her into, but also to see the city one more time. Today was likely the last time she’d ever see Berlin, a city she’d grown to love.

     Her feet hit the pavement at a steady pace to start out, carrying a small pack with identification, money, and her phone strapped to her waist. Halfway through the unfamiliar route, she smelled something heavenly, enough to stop her in her tracks. The smell of roasted nuts and the darkest of chocolate lead her away from her trail and toward a sweets shop around the corner.

     It must have been there that she’d gotten turned around.

     She’d entered the shop with full intention of acquiring some chocolate, but had been distracted by the assortment of _salmiak_. The stringent, ammonia taste was one of her favorites, as she wasn’t one for sticky-sweet. She’d left the shop, biting into a fish-shaped piece and found herself lost in her own mind. In a memory, she offered an unsuspecting Nadine a piece of the unconventional candy. Her friend had spit it out, coughing and yelling at Val while Val had laughed until she was red in the face. She’d warned her it was an acquired taste.

     She checked her phone.  It was 15:30.  Was this the right route?  The street signs didn’t look right.  Panicking slightly, she walked faster, trying to figure out how to use her phone’s map function, nearly getting hit by a car as she crossed the street with her nose to the screen.

     By the time she’d reached the rental agency it was 16:15 and they were closed.  _Idiot,_ she thought, _you fucking idiot_.  She sat on a bench and dropped her head into her hands.  What was she going to do? She licked at the back of her teeth, dislodging a bit of stuck gummy.  Her mind returned to the memory she’d been lost in before.

     When she’d been using, candy was the only thing she’d cared to eat, as opposed to her normal tastes in which she was averse to such a thing.  Nadine, having known this, had returned home with a bag of the _salmiak_ and handed it to Val, who was slightly annoyed until she realized that Nadine truly thought it to be the sickly sweet candy she’d requested.

 _Do you know what would calm you down?_ she thought.  
     _Yes, but I don’t care.  You’re only thinking about this because of the candy,_ she thought back.  
_You can’t go back to Thomas without the truck._  
     The streetlights clicked on around her.  Dammit.  
     She sprinted back to the apartment, and away from her thoughts, managing to again get temporarily lost, this time in the dark.  
     _A lot of use you’re going to be when you get to New York._

     The apartment door stood ajar.  Confused, she pushed it open to reveal a bare living room. Eichhorst was nowhere in sight. She checked the other two rooms, finding them similarly bare. He’d left without her and she wasn’t completely sure where he and the Master were headed.

     She found herself growing angry. It was only 17:00, and the sun had just set. She tried calling him, but there was no answer and his voicemail box was full. Did he think he could get rid of her?

     She stormed out of the building and found a taxi to bring her to a location near the warehouse where the Master had been staying, walking the rest of the way down the unpaved road.  Under her adrenaline from the churning anger and anxiety, she realized distantly that she was freezing, her skin prickling.  It was late January, and her running clothes didn’t provide much insulation. 

     The Audi came into view as she approached the warehouse, but she found no trace of either Eichhorst or the Master.  In a moment of inspiration, she ran back to the car and reached up into the wheel well, finding a key hidden on the front passenger side.  She breathed out a sigh of relief and felt her whole body relax.  He wasn't trying to get rid of her.  She bit her lip and tensed back up.  That didn't mean he wasn't going to be mad.

     Val sat in the car for a moment, considering where to go.  She was fairly certain that he'd said they were relocating to Lieben...something. About 90 percent certain. A shop attendant pointed her in the direction of Liebenwalde, about a half hour’s drive and located next to a natural park.  That had to be it.

 

  
     Her breath came out as a cloud in front of her as she walked further down the dirt trail, lifting upward like smoke in the moonlight.  Her whole body shivered as she rolled up the sleeve of her shirt.  If this didn't work, she’d have to go back to the car before the cold made her ill.  She held her forearm to her mouth and pressed down on the flesh with her right eyetooth, the one with the sharp edge she always caught her tongue on.  When the metallic taste flooded her mouth she let go and finger-whistled into the dark.

     She might not even be in the right place. Or even the right town. Even if she was, who knew if he even wanted her to find -

     “Valérie,” a familiar whisper from within the trees made both her feet actually leave the ground.

     “Good. _God_ ,” she held a hand over her heart.  “Was that necessary?”

     Thomas stepped onto the trail, looking unamused by her fright. He clasped his hands in front of himself. “I cannot whistle. Strigoi anatomy does not allow it.”

     “Listen, I'm -”

     “There’s no need to apologize. Your incompetence earlier has been forgiven by the Master; your ability and will to locate us makes up for it.  Come,” he gestured for her to follow him into the trees.

     “You couldn’t have waited for me?  Or left a note?  I was a half an hour late,” she complained as she crossed the threshold into the forest.  Despite her efforts and the gratefulness at the Master’s forgiveness, she found herself irritated.  Had her loyalty thus far meant so little?

     “I must remind you that my loyalty is to the Master, Dr. Rochette. And the Master has little time to waste.”

 

     One twisted ankle and one speech about responsibility later, the pair approached a large van parked in a lot off of a service road. “Where did you get this truck?” Val asked.

     “It was at the warehouse in Berlin.”

     “So it’s stolen. They’re definitely going to notice that.”

     They climbed into the van and he answered, “You see the problem.”

     “I can take the truck back before dawn, if you want,” Val volunteered.

     “No need. No one saw me take the truck.  We can simply abandon it and take the car to our destination.”

     “You’re sure no CCTV caught your face?  Big brother is everywhere, you know,” she reminded him.

     “My face is unlikely to be in any database,” he replied.  “A benefit of not having a family; no pesky genealogists are likely to possess a photo of me and, if they did, I doubt they’d admit we were related.  Society has, thankfully, forgotten all about Thomas Eichhorst.”

     Val had been impressed at the nearly complete lack of information on Eichhorst available on the internet.  She nodded. “Theory is you lived out your days in sunny Argentina. Probably dead by now.”

     “That part is accurate.”

 

 

  
     _Love is the leech, sucking you up._  
 _Love is a vampire, drunk on your blood._

     While singing, Val zipped her suitcase and patted the top of it.  She was ready.  She left for New York in the morning. She wasn't nervous.

     She sat on the bed, shaking her leg and trying to focus on the music.  She had only been on a plane once.  She didn't even know the English word for plane.  She was unprepared.

  _Love is the beast that will tear out your heart, hungrily lick it, and painfully pick it apart._

     “An interesting choice of song,” Thomas reclined against the door frame of her room.  It had been nice to have her own space at this apartment, even though she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to its inhabitants.

     “I found an old CD collection,” she reddened, having been caught out.  Once she'd discovered the album she’d listened to it almost every night, alone in her room, regretfully wishing she still had to share.

     “We should celebrate tonight.  For all of our hard work and the hard work to come.  A proper send off.  Come,” he gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen.

     “You bought me steak?” she was surprised and gleeful.  It was thoughtful.  Since he didn't eat, she bought and prepared all food herself.

     “I also thought we could have a celebratory drink,” he gestured to a group of bottles on the counter. “I recall you saying you had a particular fondness for the Mai Tai. Judging by your love of tropical drinks, I thought you might enjoy a Singapore Sling.”

 

  
     While he was mixing her a third concoction, Val started to feel a bit like she was she was wearing furs in a homeless shelter.  “Aren't you going to have a drink Mr. Eichhorst?” she half-teased.

     “Perhaps later,” he smiled to himself and it clicked into place for Val.

     “Wait," she squinted at him, "can you get drunk?”

     “I can feel the effects of alcohol, yes,” he handed her the glass and turned to adjust the stereo, “but I cannot consume it directly.”

     He turned back around to see Val unceremoniously downing the fruity beverage.

     “That took effort to prepare,” he said, sounding slightly put out.

     Val crossed the room and grabbed the bottle of gin, gesturing at her comrade. “Let's get drunk together, Thomas.”

     “Enjoy yourself, don’t rush,” he urged.

     Disregarding his suggestion, Val took a long pull from the bottle and leaned into Eichhorst’s space.  “I _am_ enjoying myself.” She leaned back against the kitchen counter and took another long swig.  “What is this?” she gestured toward stereo he'd been fiddling with.

     “Beethoven, I believe. Quite a throw from the goth music you seem to enjoy.”

     Val snorted.  “No offense, but I'm surprised you know what that even is.”

     Thomas smiled and slowly, deliberately crossed the room to Val as he spoke, looking blissfully nostalgic.  “The 80’s were a very fun time.  Suffice it to say I never went hungry,” he came to a stop facing Val and eyed the empty bottle as she set it on the counter beside herself with some difficulty.

     “Those poor goth gurls,” she slurred, watching his reaction.  “Boys?  You seem to mostly go for the boys, yeah?  That's why you have me,” she gestured with her hand looking for the right word, but her gesturing was cut off by being struck in the side of the throat.  A pinch, and a draining feeling.  Arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against a warm, solid frame.  She instinctively threw her arms around his neck with her hand in his hair.

     In the lightheaded giddiness that comes just before fainting, she felt a familiar elated sensation travelling upward throughout her body.  She wrapped her ankle around the back of one if his, pulling him even closer.

     He decided not to totally drain her for her insolence.

     He retracted his stinger at the last moment before she lost consciousness, and she watched through the haze as he bit harshly into his own lip, the white bubbling forth.  She felt him at her neck, mouthing the wound. As her strength returned along with her consciousness, her hand returned to the back of his head, a groan escaping her lips.

     He then suddenly disengaged and she whimpered at the loss of contact and protested. “But -”

     He leaned back to reveal a slightly drunken grin.  He reached up and stroked her hair.  “You do smell so delicious right now,” he leaned down and ran his nose along her collarbone and up to the back of her ear.  “but tonight is not the night.”  He disentangled himself from the thoroughly frustrated young woman.  “You need sleep.”

     She looked at him in pure disbelief and, miffed, replied, “Fine.  I'll take care of it myself then,” and stomped off to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

     He approached the door and spoke through it.  “Remember, I have very good hearing.” He then walked off, chuckling.

     “Jerk,” Val whispered under her breath, hoping he'd hear it.

 

  
     Roughly 20 hours later (or, by the official time, 14 hours later), she stepped out of a yellow taxi in front of the enormous Stoneheart tower in Midtown Manhattan. Pausing for a moment before releasing a calming breath, she stepped from the bustling early New York morning and into the cold, tense sterility of Palmer’s domain.


	6. Waiting For the Worms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long time to write - let the NYC shenanigans begin!

     Instrumental music filled the research lab inside Stoneheart, allowing Val to concentrate on the small dish in her gloved hands.  The music was loud enough that she didn’t hear the doors open behind her.  She thought herself alone until she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.  Startled, she dropped the dish she was holding, bits of red spattering the benchtop.

     “Sorry to startle you, Dr. Rochette.  I hope we didn’t ruin anything,” Palmer said from his chair as his caretaker Fitzwilliam wheeled him closer.  
  
     Val smiled as she removed her gloves, slightly irritated but smiling sweetly nonetheless.  “Nothing that can’t be replaced.”  
  
     Palmer nodded.  “Excellent. Fitzwilliam and I have come to speak with you regarding who will be picking our dear friend up from the airport upon his arrival.”

     “I’d assumed that Herr EIchhorst had that arranged, sir.”

     “He does not,” Palmer looked sour as he continued, “and he wishes for you to be involved in the process.  Why he felt the need to route the arrangements through me, I have no idea.”

     Fitzwilliam spoke up, “Mr. Palmer has agreed to offer you my assistance in contacting an individual who may be willing to transport your friend into Manhattan.”

Val nodded, thinking back to a conversation she’d had with Eichhorst a few days before in which she’d complained that New Yorkers spoke so rapidly that she had some trouble keeping up.  “I see,” she responded to Fitzwilliam. Was Thomas really so worried that she couldn’t handle a complex negotiation by herself that he’d arranged an interpreter? She fumed at the idea. “When do we leave?” she asked.  Time to prove him wrong.

“As soon as you’re ready,” Fitzwilliam answered.  
  
     “Let me change and I’ll meet you in the lobby in,” she glanced at the clock, “ten minutes?”

 

     Fitzwilliam drove Val and himself to a somewhat run-down looking Mediterranean café in Lenox Hill.  As he drove, he informed her that an associate of Palmer’s, a man named Greg, would be waiting inside with the man in negotiation to transport the Master.  Of course, Greg and the man in question thought they were negotiating for a piece of medical equipment Palmer desperately needed to be let through more quickly than protocol allowed.  

     Despite Fitzwilliam’s insistence that he accompany her, Val exited the car and entered the café alone, while Fitzwilliam waited in the car, out of sight.  When she walked in, she was immediately flagged down by a man at a table in the far corner. 

“Ms. Valérie?” the wiley-looking man, about 40 and probably of Greek or Italian descent, stood from the table and held out his hand.

“Greg?” she asked for confirmation, holding out her hand which, to her surprise, he kissed instead of shaking.  Val found herself a little flustered, and mentally re-aligned herself to the task at hand.  They took their seats and she asked who they’d be meeting.  
  
     “His name’s Jim.  We’ve met a couple of times to talk about the idea, but tonight we finalise.  Not sure how Palmer found him. He works for the CDC, so he’ll be able to push the equipment through very fast.”

     “He’ll need it quickly.  He’s a very ill man,” Val nodded in agreement as a plain, nervous-looking bespectacled man entered the restaurant.  

Greg flagged him down.  “Here’s our friend now.”

     Jim was a nice man, Val could tell, and he was adamant that this wasn’t something he would agree to do under normal circumstances.  Val believed him; she’d been there.  
  
     “May I ask what’s pressuring you?” she asked.  “My apologies if this is too forward, but perhaps there is other future work you’d be interested in, to alleviate your financial woes?”  She didn’t actually know of any other favors needed at the moment. She was mostly just being nosey. 

“It’s my wife.  She’s sick. We’ve exhausted all options,” he answered, pushing his glasses up his nose.  
  
     Greg nodded.  “Healthcare in this country’s ridiculous.  Almost bankrupted my mother before she died.”

Jim nodded grimly and went on, “She applied to a clinical trial in a last-ditch effort, but she got denied.  They won’t even tell us why.”

     “That’s horrible,” Val empathized.  “It’s terrible that bureaucracy keeps ill people from getting the treatment they need.  That’s actually part of the matter at hand; the equipment Mr. Palmer needs so badly is perfectly legal in both Europe and the United States, yet the time it would take to get cleared by customs is time that Mr. Palmer can’t afford to waste.”   
  
     She pushed the envelope with the instructions and a quarter of the money across the table to Jim.  “We’re all so grateful that you’re willing to do this, Jim. The rest of the sum will be paid upon completion of the task.  You can contact Greg to set up a meeting time and place.”  
  
     Greg and Val both rose from the table, Jim following suit.  Handshakes were exchanged, and Jim departed, leaving Greg and Val at the café. 

Greg scribbled on a napkin and handed it to Val.  “My number,” he explained. “You know, for business,” and winked at her.  Val accepted the napkin with a polite smile and met Fitzwilliam outside in the car, ready to return to Stoneheart.

  
  


 

     “I've found you a place.  You're going to love it.  At least, I hope,” Val chattered into her cell phone as she bustled around an abandoned portion of the Mayfair Hotel, deciding which rooms she should clean and decorate and which could remain in ruins.

Eichhorst smiled on the other end of the line.  She sounded excited. “Where is it located?”

     “About halfway between Stoneheart and the property in the Meat Packing District you gave me the address for.  You’d have fairly easy access to both. Although, I do wish you’d reconsider staying at Stoneheart. It’s snazzy” she advised.

“I fear being so close to Eldritch would grow tiresome very quickly.  You must be exhausted,” he surmised.

“He hasn’t been so bad,” she kicked a crumbled piece of drywall out of her path and suggested hesitantly, “Maybe I can stay with you instead?  There’s tons of room here and it’s not too far from Stoneheart, for me to get to the lab.”

     “Nooo, no no,” Thomas immediately answered.  “Divide and conquer. I need eyes on Eldritch as much as possible.”

Val was disappointed and slightly miffed.  It sounded like he just didn’t want her around.  She hoped he’d enjoy the apartment, anyway.  It was quite the lucky find.  She’d been walking down the street and noticed the boarded windows on the side of the otherwise functioning hotel.  It had taken quite a bit of poking around, but she’d found an outside entrance.  In a side alley, a ladder lead up the side of the building to the landing of a disused stairwell.

     She’d spent her spare time over the next few days cleaning dust from the abandoned wing of the old hotel, hanging blackout curtains from the one functioning window and furnishing the rooms the best she could in a way she thought might suit Thomas's tastes.  She didn't have enough time to make it perfect, but it was now livable.    


     “How is the Master?” she asked.

     “Enjoying the last few days of rest before the world changes.” 

     “Are you excited?  When will you get here?” she asked rapid-fire.   
  
     “Soon,” he answered simply.  Val wanted to ask  _ how _ soon, since the Occultation was less than a week away.  She didn’t want to pester him, so she reigned in her questions.

     Filling the silence, he asked how her research was going.   
  
     “Progressing,” she answered.  “Eldritch already has me growing him an extra liver, just in case.  Sounds like his faith in the Master may not be 100 percent.”

     There was a beat of silence.  “Eldritch will never be completely loyal to one idea or person other than himself, so this is not surprising.  However,” he said in a tone that Val knew meant someone was about to get a verbal hiding, “the intention was for you to be continuing with the blood proliferation research, was it not?”

     “It is, and the growing of organs is moderately related.  Palmer was adamant, so I tackled that first to keep him off my case,” she explained.

     “Understood,” Eichhorst answered, “I admit that I don’t know much about the technical aspects of your specialty; I wasn’t ever cut out for subjects of that sort.”

     Val sensed an unusual bit of self-condescension in his voice.  “You have your own talents. Now I’ve got to get this place in order or you’ll think you’re living on the set of a horror film when you arrive.”

     “Val - I trust you’re staying away from old habits?” Thomas asked quickly, as if rushing in a question that had been on his mind.

She chewed her lip.  “Been too busy to even think about it.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

 

 

 

     What a world the Master would build with the people of New York.  Instead of jogging, Val had taken to walking the bustling streets of Manhattan, enjoying the energy of being anonymous in a varied, diverse crowd.  As she hurried from 49th Street back to Stoneheart tower, she realized that she liked New York even better than she’d liked Berlin. 

     At first, Val had been privately doubtful that the Master could actually mold humanity into anything other than a plague upon the Earth.  Getting out in the world, seeing different types of people, had extinguished that doubt.  There was hope for humanity.  Together, they’d bring the world closer to perfection, and New York was the perfect place to start.

 

 

 

     Val entered Palmer’s penthouse office, having been summoned by Fitzwilliam.  Palmer looked awful; his skin had gone sallow and he was hooked up to several machines.  Greg waited by his bedside.

     “Dr. Rochette,” Palmer greeted her.  “I’ve been contacted by Herr Eichhorst to send you on some sort of... _ reconnaissance _ mission to find a driver to pick your friend up from the airport.”

     “I thought we had this in place,” Val stated, confused.

     Greg piped in, “That was just to get the equipment waived.  Your friend that is carrying the equipment will need to be brought from the airport to Stoneheart.”

     “Greg will be joining you,” Palmer added.  “He knows a young gentleman who may be interested and I want to make sure everything is on the up-and-up.”   
  
     Val was suspicious, after his insistence that she put her main research aside and focus on liver regeneration.  She wanted to make sure she was fulfilling the Master’s wishes, above Eldritch’s.  “Is Greg joining me for safety or am I caught in a jurisdictional argument between yourself and my Master?”

     She realized the slip-up the second the words left her mouth.  Greg got an odd, somewhat confused look on his face and Palmer was visibly angry.   
  
     “My only interest is that the job is completed properly,” he answered sternly.  “And, since Herr Eichhorst seems so fond of you, for no harm to come your way.”

     She couldn’t help but poke at the already tense situation.  “You could just admit that you like me, Eldritch.”   
  
     “Just get it done!” Palmer snapped.  “Doctor, Mr. Marinakis, you’re dismissed.”

 

 

 

     Greg and Val headed to the Upper West Side in Greg’s SUV.  He chatted the entire way, but Valerie heard only a quarter of what he was saying.

“So, uh...what’s with this ‘Master’ stuff?” he let out a short, nervous laugh.  “‘Cause, uh, you know, I’m real good at giving directions, if that’s what you’re into, catch my drift?”

_God,_ _he spoke fast_ , Val thought to herself.  “I used the wrong word,” she lied, turning to look out the window at the people on the sidewalk.  “I meant to say ‘boss.’”

     Greg gave her a shit-eating grin and replied, “Uh huh, sure.”

     When she didn’t reply, he went on, to Val’s dismay.  How far were they from this meeting spot? “I see you don’t smile a lot, that’s fine.  Ladies shouldn’t smile just because they’re told they should.  You European ladies don’t smile a lot usually - that’s what my grandpa used to tell me anyway.”

     Val finally turned to look at him, not smiling.  “Who is it we’re going to meet?”

     “Guy’s name is Gus,” Greg answered.

 

     After meeting with Gus, Val agreed to grab dinner with Greg.  She’d stayed silent for most of the interaction with Gus and his friends, except for to thank him as they parted.

     “He’s a good kid, ya know?” Greg mused about Gus while seated across from her in the back of a French restaurant.  If asked, Val would have disagreed that the food was French at all.

     “I mean, he’s a thief by trade, but he’s not  _ violent _ .”

“And you?” she fished, the question leaving her lips before she realized she’d answered.  She wasn’t sure why she would ask that question; it was clear that Greg was probably harmless.  Probably.

     There was a glint in his eye and a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  “Depends who’s in my way,” he answered simply. He chuckled and took a sip of wine, regarding her for a moment.  “You like that, don’t you?” 

     Val, having been in a self-enforced “Prim and Proper Mode” for the past few weeks, was slightly lubricated by the wine and again responded in a more honest tone than she intended.  “Well, I don’t spread my legs for every tough guy I come across, if that’s the question.”   
  
     Greg snorted, and covered his mouth, his eyebrows near his hairline.  “Is your ‘boss’ a tough guy?”

     She smiled at him; if only he knew.  “Maybe you’ll find out.”

     “Maybe I will,” he quipped, and held up his glass in cheers.

He tried to kiss her after dinner.  She’d ducked, apologized, and hailed herself a cab back to Stoneheart.  She received a text on the way home. 

_      <No worries.  - Greg> _

 

 

 

     The next afternoon, Val had finally had a chance to return to the work she’d been interrupted at the previous evening.  She flipped on the radio before pulling on some gloves and plopping down on the stool in front of the laboratory hood. The air flowed through the hood, thrumming loudly as she hummed along to a goth rock artist she’d first heard when she arrived in New York.  Posters for his concert were plastered all around the city.

“Valérie.”

__ She jumped in the air, dropping her experiment for the third time in as many days and, heart still threatening to leave her chest, she whipped around.  The next moment, her arms were around Eichhorst’s neck, squeezing him tightly to her chest.  He let her.   
  
     “I can’t believe you’re finally here!  I’m not even mad that you almost just gave me a heart attack!” she stopped squeezing, and leaned back to look at his face, her arms still draped along his shoulders.  “Sorry,” she laughed nervously, “I’ve missed you a bit.”   
  
     “It’s only been two weeks,” he replied, fighting a smile.

__ “That’s forever when you haven’t been alive for 100 years,” she retorted.

     He answered with a smile that, for once, stayed in place.  “I’ve never seen you wear your hair like this. It’s nice.”  Thomas reached up to tuck back a strand that had fallen from Val’s chignon, when a loud, boisterous voice rang down the hallway that lead to the lab.

__ “How’s my lovely macaron -” Greg stopped as he entered the lab and saw Val and Eichhorst disentangling themselves from their embrace. “Oh, hey.  Let me guess, are you ‘Master’?”

__ There was a quiet fury emanating from Eichhorst that Val had only seen once before this occasion.  He was never impulsively confrontational - probably a hold-over from his human life as a rather slight man.  Instead, he was a cobra, bent back and waiting for the right moment to lash out.

__ He smiled tightly as Greg continued to approach.  “That’s not my title, but you may feel free to refer to me as such.”  He left Greg’s extended hand hanging in the air.

__ “Greg,” Val started, “this is Thomas Eichhorst.  A...business partner. Herr Eichhorst, this is Greg Marinakis, an associate of Eldritch Palmer.  He’s helped us arrange transport for Mr. Palmer’s medical equipment from the airport.”

__ Neither said anything for a moment, when Greg cut the silence by, for once, talking business.  “We just got word that the equipment is coming in tomorrow night, from Berlin. I’m heading over to talk to Gus and give him the first half of his money.  Thought you might want to join,” he shrugged, looking lost.

__ “I’d love to,” Val reached out and touched Greg’s arm in a reassuring manner, and then turned to Eichhorst who was doing his best impression of a stone statue.  “Why don’t you come with us? Greg can bring us to your hotel after.”

__ “And then back here, or?” Greg questioned as the group exited the lab.  Upon being met with dual icy stares, he threw up his hands. “Okay, okay, one thing at a time then.”

 

 

     Thomas had ordered Greg and Val to stay in the car while he exited the SUV to talk with Gus.  The New Yorker hadn’t taken it well. As soon as the door shut behind Eichhorst, Greg turned to her, baffled and angry.  “What is this guy’s fuckin’ problem?”

     Val shrugged, watching the business deal in front of them, knowing that Eichhorst could likely hear every word said in the car.   
  
     “He’d better not be fucking up this deal.  This guy is a great resource,” Greg nervously ran his hand through his hair.

     “Trust me, he knows what he’s doing,” Val snapped back at him.

     Greg still looked unsure, but conceded that if Palmer trusted him, then he must know what he’s doing.  He then dropped the pair off at the Mayfield and they waited until he pulled out of sight before Val lead Eichhorst to the hidden entrance.

     “Impressive,” he slowly walked through the corridor with his hands behind his back, inspecting.  “How did you find the entrance? Persistence or dumb luck?”

     “Both,” Val replied.  “Now, there’s a surprise behind this door.  Close your eyes!”

     “I will do no such thing.  Please,” he gestured, “open the door.”

     Val stuck out her bottom lip, making Eichhorst roll his eyes.   
  
     “Fine,” he conceded, allowing himself to be lead forward with Val’s hands over his eyes.  After a moment, she lifted her hands away.   
  
     “Ta-daaaa!” she exclaimed from beside him.

     Before them stood a large, empty room lined with white panels.  It resembled a padded cell from an asylum, but set in a massive octagon.  He knew what it was for before she started to explain.   
  
     “It’s soundproof,” she whispered excitedly.  “I tested it myself - you can’t hear anything from the hotel.  I’m sure you might want to add some things -”

     She was cut off, surprisingly, by Thomas crushing his lips against hers.  

     They parted and, breathlessly, Val asked, “So you like it, then, I take it?”   
  
     His hands still cupped both sides of her jaw.  “Valérie Rochette. You are mine now. You understand, don’t you?”

     “I have been for awhile,” she beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg was referenced once by Jim Kent, but he never appeared on screen. Hmm, I wonder why?


End file.
